


(It's Too Late To) Apologize

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Category: Smallville
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan owes Clark an apology, but the damage has already been done. Set in early season 3, after Clark returns from Metropolis</p>
            </blockquote>





	(It's Too Late To) Apologize

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catie_writes_things](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/gifts).



> written for Catie partially because she said I should write Smallville fic, and this wouldn’t have been written for another month at the very least without that encouragement and partially because it’s Easter and I love her! I’m also just tired of people not apologizing on this show, and I wanted this so here it is.
> 
> (Titled because I feel like Apologize would be a song that plays dramatically at the end of an episode–i’m only on season 3, though, so don’t tell me if that actually happens!! :D)

Jonathan couldn’t find Clark. This normally wouldn’t have bothered him, except that he’d started to get a bit more nervous more easily where Clark was concerned, since Metropolis. Which is what he wanted to talk to Clark about anyway, if he could figure out where the kid was. He wasn’t out in the fields or in the barn, where Jonathan was sure he was going to find him.

“In his bedroom,” Martha said, when Jonathan came in to check the kitchen, and really, that should have been more obvious, but Clark seemed to hardly spend any time there.

“Do you think he’s alright?” Martha asked, and Jonathan shrugged.

“I’m going to talk to him.”

He could feel Martha’s eyes heavy on his back as he climbed the stairs. Clark had been back a few weeks now and seemed mostly well-adjusted, but the three months he was away had taken a toll on all of them. Jonathan remembered the sleepless nights, the mornings he’d wake up, if he fell asleep, to Martha gone from his side, the days when work was either his only distraction or his biggest burden. And in all that time, he’d never once been able to bring himself to tell Martha that so much of this had been his fault, had never been able to offer her that confession, maybe consolation, that losing both her children in one day had nothing to do with her.

He knocked on Clark’s door, and opened it at Clark’s invitation. He was lying in bed, a textbook he clearly wasn’t reading propped up on his stomach, looking at Jonathan curiously.

“Son, can we talk?” he said.

He could see Clark’s face shift, to worried, slightly guarded. “Sure, Dad.” He moved so he was sitting up and there was room for Jonathan next to him. “What’s up?”

Jonathan sat down and was quiet for a minute, searching for the right words. Finally, he started, slowly, cautious, “Remember when you first got back from Metropolis–” He felt Clark stiffen next to him, just slightly—“and you apologized to your mother about the baby?”

Clark nodded and started to say something, but Jonathan plowed on. “She said we never blamed you for that, and she was right, but I owe you an apology. That day, in the hospital, I–,”

“Dad–,”

“Let me finish, Clark. I took my worry and stress out on you, and that wasn’t fair. I never meant to blame you, and I never should have said what I did to you, and I’m sorry for that.”

“But you were right,” Clark protested. “My actions had consequences.”

And Jonathan was afraid of that, afraid of the damage he’d done to a boy already so willing to blame himself for any little thing that went wrong. He’d missed so much of Clark’s struggles, then, how he’d tried so hard to not hurt the ones he loved, how scared he’d been. He’d realized, of course, during the months Clark had been gone, just how much he’d done to drive his son away.

Clark spoke again, bringing Jonathan back from his thoughts. “Lana said it’d have been better if the meteor had never hit. I think she’s right too.”

“If you’re trying to suggest we’d be better of without you, you’re wrong, Clark,” Jonathan said. “Lana’s your friend, and you’re our son. We love you. And I would do it all again, any time. You can’t hold yourself responsible for things you have no control over. Your biological father put you in a position where you didn’t have much control.”

Clark didn’t answer, and they stayed quiet for a minute. Then, Jonathan clapped Clark’s shoulder, making to stand, but Clark grabbed his hand. “Don’t leave. Please.”

Jonathan sat back down, wrapped an arm around Clark’s shoulders. Jonathan sometimes forgot how big Clark was now, how broad. His son was growing up, but feeling his head rest on his shoulder, the hitch in his breath, the tears on his shirt sleeve, Jonathan was reminded of the small boy he’d tucked into his side, no more than eight-years-old, all teary-eyed and shuddering gasps, after he’d accidentally crushed one of the newly hatched chicks.

“I really am sorry,” Clark said, voice thick and muffled into Jonathan’s shoulder.

“I know, son,” he said, squeezing him a bit closer. He pressed a kiss into Clark’s hair. “I know. But you don’t have to be.”

Jonathan had been right, all those months ago; actions had consequences, and he would have to spend a long time making up for the damage he’d done to his son, the guilt and insecurity Jonathan had placed on him. He held on to Clark a bit longer, praying that this wasn’t irreparable.


End file.
